Human Voices Wake Us
by VR Trakowski
Summary: GS What does a normal human being do when experiencing pain?
1. part the first

The characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. 

Feedback is most appreciated, feel free to post; if you want a personal response you can e-mail me. 

Spoilers: through "Eleven Angry Jurors".

******

**"Well," the Goddess said,"your heart didn't heal straight the last time it broke. So we'll break it again and reset it so it heals straight this time." --Diane Duane, _Children's Tales of North Arlen_/The Door Into Shadow**

******

They gathered at the bank one by one, summoned from other tasks by beepers and text messages, carrying their cases into the coolness of the echoing, high-ceilinged space and all remembering, uncomfortably, a similar case that had seen one of their own lying too still on the floor. _Poor Cyrus. _

But no one was dead this time, Sara reminded herself. It was just a bank heist. She grinned at Nick, waved at Warrick as he came in, complimented Catherine on her new blouse as they made the initial survey of the scene. Multiple perps, lots of confusion; she could hear Brass' gravelly voice as he herded witnesses over by the door. 

Grissom breezed in, as calm as ever, taking in the scene with one slow look. "All right, people," he began. "They got away with a major haul, and the Sheriff's getting antsy." His mouth twisted in obvious distaste for the political aspects of the case. "That's why you're all here tonight. I'd like to get this one out of the way as soon as possible." He glanced around. "Warrick, Sara, print the vault; we might get lucky. Nick, the surveillance videos. Cat, you come with me." 

And with that, they dispersed. Sara followed Warrick into the vault, which was a mess of pulled-out safety-deposit boxes and scattered papers. "Wow, they really did a number on this place, didn't they?" 

Warrick set down his case. "Pretty thorough for a bunch of cowboys." 

Sara arched a brow at him as she snapped on gloves. "Cowboys?" 

He chuckled a little. "According to Brass, preliminary witness reports show these guys as amateurs, not professionals. It didn't look like they knew what they were doing, and they were really nervous. Lucky no one got shot, in fact." 

"Huh." Sara opened a jar of printing powder. "Yet, we get stuck in here. Even morons know to wear gloves these days." 

Warrick glanced over his shoulder at her. "Get real, Sara. You and me doing the printing? It might be a long shot, but Grissom knows that neither of_ us _will miss it if it's here." He shook his head, turning back to begin dusting one wall of boxes. "What is it with you two these days, anyway?" 

Sara sighed, and dipped her brush in the powder. "I wish I knew," she said, but so softly that he probably didn't hear. 

Dusting for prints, particularly over a large surface, often gave Sara time for thought, and this was a very large surface. Close examination and concentration came after the application of powder; the actual dusting required delicacy and attention, but not so much that a stream of consciousness couldn't run underneath as skilled hands did their work. Sara moved slowly along the expanse of drawers, brush in gloved hand, pondering how human relationships could be so complex when their interactions were so often simple. 

_For instance. Me and Grissom. Or is that Grissom and I? _ Her thought had a definite ironic flavor. They weren't linked anymore beyond the positions of subordinate and supervisor. Their deep friendship had eroded, fading away under the pressure of her emotion and his remoteness. 

Sara dipped her brush in powder again, and twirled the instrument carefully over a fresh section of metal. _It's sad, really. _ That relationship had brought her to Vegas, induced her to stay, but all the enjoyment she'd gotten from their friendship had vanished under Grissom's inexplicable behavior, to the point where even her work gave her little satisfaction. 

They had started out so well--she'd only meant to give Grissom a hand with his problem, and then he'd offered her the job, and she'd figured, why not? A new place, an old friend, lots of opportunity. 

The first year had been fun, learning and teaching, making new friends; savoring the growing, unacknowledged attraction between Grissom and herself. They both knew it was there, but aside from some double entendres, they'd chosen to let it lie...until Grissom started to have problems with his hearing. 

He probably still thought she never knew, but she did. And she'd watched as her friend and mentor had aged five years in the span of one, going from someone energetic and cheerful to withdrawn and abstracted. Sara had done her best to be there for him, but he'd turned to her less and less; even the double entendres had become infrequent. 

Eventually, shaken and lonely, she'd tried to force things. It hadn't worked. And the whole situation had gone downhill from there. There were still moments of rapport, when the two of them worked together on a case and thought in patterns so twinned that they didn't have to speak to communicate. But there was nothing else, and the loss sat hollow inside her, a constant ache. 

_So what does a normal human being do when experiencing pain? _

Sara crouched down, absently noting the three beautifully defined prints blossoming under her brush, and listened to Warrick humming behind her as he worked. She didn't recognize the tune. 

The answer had been staring her in the face for a long time, but she hadn't wanted to accept it. On some level, it felt like a failure. _ But my record's outstanding. This is one of the country's best labs. I won't have any problem getting a job somewhere else. _

Grissom would give her a good recommendation, she knew. A small kernel of shame still burned in her for what she'd said to him before, about letting their relationship or lack thereof affect his decisions. She knew it was an unfair accusation, but she'd wanted to shake him up, make him acknowledge the tensions that sang between them. Instead, he'd only looked at her in utter, apparently genuine, confusion...and then hurt. And she'd babbled, and then turned and walked out. Nothing she did got through to him, it seemed. All it did was dig her deeper. 

It was time she paid attention to what was going on, instead of just reacting. What was work going to be like six months in the future, a year, two years? Was the situation acceptable, as it stood? 

_Maybe I shouldn't settle for "acceptable." _ She felt a fresh pulse of hurt at the thought, but pushed it away. Emotion had done her little good so far. Logic might serve her better. 

Her powder jar was almost empty, but she'd come to the end of the wall. Heading back to her kit, Sara set introspection aside. She needed all her concentration now. 

******

"Hey, girl." 

Sara looked up as Warrick swung into Jacqui's domain. "Hey to you too. What happened, you get stuck in traffic?" 

The taller man came to stand beside her. "Nah, Nick was just being slow. Hey, Jacqui." 

The print expert didn't look up from her magnifier, but her nose wrinkled. "DB?" 

Sara grinned at Warrick's comical shrug. "You guessed it," he said. 

"No, I smelled it," Jacqui retorted, moving her magnifier to another print. "Sometimes I think you guys shouldn't be allowed back into the lab without a shower." 

"Oooh, I'm _hurt. _" Warrick laid a hand on his chest in mock pain. 

"Lemons," Sara reminded him succinctly. "Anything interesting?" 

"Just a DFO," Warrick replied. "David's prelim suggests heart attack. Not worth getting pulled away from the heist for." 

"Speaking of which," Jacqui said, straightening, "it's not necessary for you guys to stand around while I do this. Don't you have evidence to process or something?" 

"All done," Sara said mendaciously. It wasn't quite true, of course, but she hadn't turned up anything probative, and she'd decided to take a break to see if she could refocus her concentration. 

For some reason--_yeah, right, you know exactly why_--it was getting harder to concentrate on her job these days. 

"If I give you something, will you get out of here and leave me in peace?" Jacqui asked, folding her arms and giving them her small smile. 

"Sure," the two CSIs chorused. 

"Fine then. AFIS shows a match on three of the prints so far. One belongs to the janitor--he was printed more than twenty years ago--but the other two are printing out now." She snickered as Sara elbowed Warrick out of the way to get to the printer first. "Happy hunting, guys." 

They left the print lab behind, trading paper back and forth as they read, and dodging other pedestrians in the hallways. "Looks good," Warrick said at last. "Look, Sara, can you take these to Grissom? I really need to get that shower." 

"Yeah, all right." It was just another part of the job she loved, Sara told herself. She took the sheet from Warrick and turned towards their supervisor's office. 

The door was open, and she knocked lightly on the frame to get his attention. Grissom looked up from the file he was studying, his gaze inquiring over the rim of his glasses. "What's up?" 

"Jacqui's turned up two prints so far," Sara reported, walking forward to hand him the papers. "Doug Fresham and Marshall Black, both of them arrested for armed robbery in 2002." 

"Good. I'll put Brass on them," Grissom said. "Are Warrick and Nick back yet?" 

"Yeah--I haven't seen Nick, but Warrick went to take a shower," Sara said, knowing that he would understand why. She turned towards the door, but his voice stopped her. 

"Sara...are you all right?" 

She glanced back over her shoulder at him. "You know, you keep asking me that, and the answer's always the same. I'm fine." 

"Yes, but somehow I don't believe you," he answered dryly. 

Sara grimaced, trying to keep her emotions in check. It was worst when he said something outside the confines of work, when for an instant her treacherous heart believed that he meant something by it...something more than avuncular concern, anyway. 

"If I'm not, you'll be the first to know," she said shortly. "I have to get back to my processing." Two quick strides took her out of the office, and she swore silently at herself. _This is not acceptable. _

******

The sun was well up by the time Sara made it home. She shut off the engine, but found herself without the energy to move just yet, and sat staring blindly through the windshield, options going around and around in her head. _If he'd just leave it alone...if we were strictly professional...maybe I could manage this. _ Or maybe not. Somewhere over the past weeks, even her desire for the promotion had vanished. 

_It's affecting my ability to do my job. _ Perhaps not noticeably, not yet, but her job was the one thing Sara took great pride in. _ Let's look at this objectively. _

The heat in the car was rising, but she welcomed it as it soaked into muscles tense with long strain. 

Despite everything, she still wanted Grissom. Loved him, even, as much as she could when she had so little part in his life. She'd tried to move on, but--Hank's betrayal aside--it hadn't worked. _I can't get over him if I stay near him. _

If we go on like this, my performance will suffer. Ergo, my career will suffer. Her career...it seemed a bit cold to concentrate only on that, but on the other hand, what else did she have? 

_Therefore. _ She didn't finish the thought; a drop of sweat trickled into her eye, and she blinked at the sudden sting. _Oops, time to get out. _

She made her way into her apartment and straight to her shower, dropping her clothes on the bathroom floor and turning the water on hard. Already, her mind was humming with calculations. 

_I have tons of vacation built up. If I take two weeks' worth, and resign at the beginning, that'll give me time to contact the feds about work and Grissom a little time to find a replacement. _ Sara flinched at the thought of working through the expected two weeks' notice. _I don't want to deal with it. Not from him, and not from the others. _

Her teammates would not be pleased, that was a given. _ But it's not like I won't stay in touch. I can apologize afterwards. Better that than two weeks of strain. _

She poured shampoo into her hand and began working the lather through her hair, and was suddenly reminded of the time Grissom had told she and Nick how to get the smell of a decomp off their skins. More memories crowded in--arguments, meals, laughter; inflating a car, rappelling from a helicopter, sorting through a landfill's worth of trash; 3 a.m. brainstorming sessions, dead pigs, lighting up a pickle; slapping hands with Warrick, teasing Greg, Catherine's wicked smile, flirting with David, Nick's wide grin. The sound of Grissom's voice. 

_I never even got to the body farm. _

She blamed the sting in her eyes on the shampoo. 

******

Never one to procrastinate, she put her plan into action the next shift, taking five minutes from sorting through evidence to find her way to Grissom's office. 

"Hey, boss," Sara said, leaning casually on the doorframe. Her request was bound to make Grissom suspicious. 

Grissom was holding his small terrarium, watching the tarantula within as it tapped furry legs against the glass. "What's up?" 

"I want to take some vacation time. My parents are making noises about my not coming to visit." Both statements were the truth--she knew better than to try to lie to him--but they were unrelated, at least at the moment. 

Grissom set the tank on its shelf and pivoted to face her. "Well, it's about time." His eyes were twinkling. "I was beginning to wonder if they were going to call the lab and ask if we were holding you prisoner." 

Sara smiled a little. "Hey, I went back last Christmas." 

"Yeah, for how long? Three days?" Grissom snorted. "How much time do you need?" 

She took a deep breath. "Two weeks." 

His brows went up. "That must have been some phone call." He sat down behind his desk and flipped open his planner. "Well, if you can wait until the end of next week, I think we can accommodate you." 

Sara blinked in surprise. "Really?" 

He grinned. "Really. Sara, you're a valuable member of this lab. You work most holidays and max out on overtime. Giving you the vacation you're entitled to is the least we can do." 

His effusiveness took her aback. _Darn it, Grissom, why do you have to be so nice when I'm planning on pulling the rug out from under you? _ "Thanks," she managed, trying to look suitably pleased. 

"Get some rest while you're at it," he added. "You may say you're fine, but you're looking a little stressed these days." 

She breathed out a silent, ironic laugh. "I'll do that." 

******

Sara scrawled a hasty signature on the paper, as though speed would make it easier to ignore the evidence. _ "Chicken scratch," _Nick's voice teased her from memory, but she pushed it away, glanced down to make sure that the important parts were legible, and folded the paper precisely in thirds. It was going to be easy enough; she would stay late at work, as she so often did, and would drop the paper on Grissom's desk after he left, along with her badge and gun. A duffel bag stood ready to carry off the contents of her locker. Quick, simple, clean. 

_Yeah, right. _

It felt extremely odd to go about her business--dropping off samples, filing reports--when all the time that neatly enveloped resignation was sitting in her locker. It seemed to hover at the edge of her consciousness, a decision she thought she'd made presenting itself over and over. But each time, Sara forced it back down with the same arguments. She hung over Greg's shoulder, joined Nick in processing a minivan, and sat around the table with the others, eating lunch and discussing their cases. And all the time, the back of her mind kept thinking, this is the last time...the last time. 

At shift's end, Catherine wished her a good vacation in the locker room, and Sara thanked her and dawdled at her locker until the older woman was gone. She had to get the timing right; Grissom was running some experiment in one of the labs and was going to stay late. But it all went like clockwork. Sara swung out of the locker room, duffel on her shoulder, to spot Grissom lecturing Greg over an array of equipment. _ Perfect. _ That would keep him occupied for a while, certainly long enough for Sara to slip in and out of his office. 

******

She had expected him to be angry. He got annoyed from time to time, irritated, frustrated, but she'd only seen him truly angry a couple of times. And his fury was a force to be reckoned with. 

So Sara almost didn't pick up the phone when the caller ID showed his number. The fact that it was his home number wasn't lost on her; certainly the privacy of his home was a better place for yelling. His office wasn't soundproof. 

But while part of her argued that she owed him nothing, another part of her felt that as Grissom's subordinate, she owed him an explanation if he wanted it. _ I can always hang up. _

"Hi, Grissom." 

"Sara." He spoke her name as an acknowledgement, and then let a breath's worth of silence pass. "Would you care to explain this?" 

He didn't sound angry, just curious. "I'm leaving. Permanently." 

"That much is obvious." His voice was calm. "Why now?" 

She hadn't really planned out what she was going to say; she'd thought they would trade volleys of heated words before slamming down their phones. A partial truth rose to her lips, and she let it out. "I don't love my job any more." 

"Why not?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "If you're unhappy, you should at least give us a chance to straighten things out. I've said it before, and you didn't seem to believe me, but the lab does need you, Sara. If there's a change we can make to make you happier--" 

It hurt too much to listen to him saying those things, when she knew he was only talking about the job. "It's not the lab." 

Another silence. "Then what is it?" 

She forced the words out. "It's personal." _Let it go, _ she begged silently. _Don't make me say it. _

"Personal," he repeated. "You don't--" 

He cut off the words, and was quiet for so long that she wondered if he'd simply set down the phone. 

"It's me, isn't it? This...thing...between us." 

Sara swallowed. "Yeah." She stared around her apartment, not really seeing anything. "Grissom, when you pay attention you're a good boss, and you're an amazing teacher. But I just can't deal with the emotional aspect any more." 

"It has gotten pretty awkward," he agreed, surprising her again. "But I don't understand why." 

She gave a frustrated laugh. "Oh, come on! I...I cared about you enough to ask you out to dinner, and you treated me like I was...was..." She couldn't think of a word for how she'd felt. "And you ignore me, and then flirt with me, and ignore me again, and I don't know what I'm supposed to think. Or feel." She bit her lip. "But let me tell you, it definitely hurts." 

"Sara." His voice was quiet, without the edge of annoyance she'd expected. "Sara, I never...I just didn't realize. I never thought it meant that much to you." 

"That_ you_ meant that much to me. Say what you mean, Griss." The irritation was familiar, but worn, and she realized that mostly she felt tired. Tired of all the unspoken emotion, the avoidance. 

"That I meant that much to you," he repeated obediently, his voice even softer, and she wondered abruptly how hard it was for him to say it. "I didn't think." 

"No, you didn't," she answered. "It's easier not to, isn't it?" Her irritation was slipping, morphing into sympathy, and she struggled with it. Right now she hated how just the sound of his voice could sap her anger. 

"I suppose." A faint thread of humor. "Catherine tried to get me to see what was going on, but..." He trailed off, and she heard him sigh. "Look, Sara, I...I'd rather not discuss this over the phone. Is there any way I can convince you to talk to me in person?" 

She arched a brow at him even though he couldn't see her. "You want to see me." 

It wasn't a question, but he treated it like one. "Yes. I do." 

She let out a breath. "Grissom, why should I come anywhere near you? You've treated me like crap, jerked me around..." 

"Because," he broke in firmly. "Sara, we were friends once. Aside from work, aside from everything else. Trust me one last time." There was something in his voice, something that made her wince, but she couldn't identify it. "And, at the very least, I owe you an apology. A big one." 

She pursed her lips in silent agreement, and considered. "I don't know." 

"Sara, please." His tone wasn't pleading; he sounded like a supervisor. She wondered why it didn't anger her, and sighed. 

"I don't think so, Griss." She closed her eyes briefly. "I'm finished, you know? I'm done. Seeing you again would just mess things up." 

He didn't respond for a moment. A slight noise reached her ear through the phone, but she couldn't make out what it was. 

"I really screwed up, didn't I?" he said finally, sounding resigned. 

"Yeah, you did." She could picture him, elbows on his table, one hand rubbing his forehead. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." 

She felt one corner of her mouth move in acknowledgment. "Actually, it's worth a lot." And it was. If nothing else, the whole mess was finally out in the open. Admitted to. 

A quiet breath, and was it relief or resignation? "All right." 

"Okay." She hesitated, as all their complications, all their history, came down to one awkward word. "'Bye." 

"Sara, wait!" 

"Yeah?" 

Silence, and then-- "Do you still--" 

She waited, but he didn't go on. "Still what?" It was obvious what he meant, but if he was going to put her through this he was going to have to say it straight out. 

"Do you still...care?" 

It was so unfair. She didn't want to give him anything at this point, but the word left her mouth anyway, unbidden. "Yeah." 

She hung up before he could speak, before he could draw anything more from her, and cursed herself for being so vulnerable. In a fit of fury, she unplugged the phone. She didn't want him calling back. 

**TBC**


	2. part the second

The characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. 

Feedback is most appreciated, feel free to post; if you want a personal response you can e-mail me. A thousand, thousand thanks to Ina and Nire the Evil, who rescued me and generously edited this; also, thanks to all those who volunteered. And many thanks to all of you who sent me feedback. *blush* I'm glad you like it!

Spoilers: through "Eleven Angry Jurors". Bear in mind, this does not take the events of "Butterflied" into account! And if you're an LMB fan, yes, I know; but I wrote it before I recognized it. What can I say? It fit!

******

**"Well," the Goddess said,"your heart didn't heal straight the last time it broke. So we'll break it again and reset it so it heals straight this time." --Diane Duane, _Children's Tales of North Arlen_/The Door Into Shadow**

******

Her system was still on night shift. Sara surprised herself by getting in five hours of sleep, despite Grissom's phone call, and when she woke she dove into packing up her apartment. She was elbow-deep in boxes by the time the sun set, and had fallen into a smooth rhythm--pack, tape, label--when she came across the three books she'd borrowed from Greg. He'd asked her to return them just the shift before, but in all the turmoil she'd forgotten, and she swore under her breath. _He said he needed them by tomorrow night. That doesn't leave me enough time to mail them. _

She briefly considered calling him and asking him to come pick them up on his way home from work, but discarded the idea. She knew Greg too well. _Once he's in the door he'll never leave, and I have too much to do. _ Not to mention she didn't want to try to explain her choices to his stricken face. 

"Okay," she muttered, and picked up the phone, plugging it back in and dialing the DNA lab. 

As she expected, the lab tech was puppy-eager to meet her at the diner near the lab, if only for a few minutes. His young male swagger lightened her mood just a little, but then the lift faded at the thought that she would miss even his heavy-handed flirting and his tendency to draw out his dénouements. For an instant she was angry at Grissom again, but as she hung up the phone she grimaced at herself. _You got yourself into this. Yeah, he's a jerk. But you're the one who's chosen to leave. _

The truth that she didn't like to think about was still there. If she really wanted to, she could kill the deep-seated affection she felt for her boss and mentor and former friend. She could retreat into professionalism until that was all that was left. But in doing so she would damage herself too much, and would destroy even the faint sweetness of her memories of their friendship. And it would undermine the team dynamic, and hurt her friends. It wasn't really an option. 

Letting out a long breath, Sara stacked Greg's books on her breakfast bar and went back to her packing. She had two hours to kill before she met him to deliver them, and the packing, at least, gave her a little peace. 

******

Sara shifted on the stool, glancing at her watch for the third time in ten minutes. It was uncharacteristic for Greg to be late, especially when he was meeting her. Impatient, she finished the coffee she'd ordered and flipped open her cellphone. Ignoring the listed messages--two of which were from Grissom--she punched in the shortcut for Greg's number. "Yo, what's with you?" she asked when he answered. "I'm here, you're not." 

"Sara...oh man, I'm sorry," Greg answered, sounding harried. "I was just going to call you. I am so swamped. Everyone and his boss has dumped evidence on me, and they're all priority." She heard the clink of glassware and the hum of machinery underlying his voice. "There's no way I'm getting out of here for break, I'll be lucky if I get to my sandwich." 

Sara bit her lip. She really, really didn't want to go to the lab. But it was only fair that she return the books. "All right," she said reluctantly. "I'll bring them by in a few minutes." She hesitated. "Is Grissom around?" 

"Haven't seen him. I think he's out on a case," Greg replied distractedly. "Yeah, I heard Warrick saying he was gonna meet him somewhere." 

Sara had no trouble dissecting Greg's last sentence. "Okay. See you in a few." 

She snapped the phone shut and put a couple of bills on the counter for her coffee. It would be simple enough to check the parking lot for Grissom's SUV. If she saw it, she could just call Greg again. Surely he could tear himself away long enough to come out to the parking lot. 

Grissom's vehicle, however, was nowhere to be seen when she drove into the lot. Her eyes automatically picked out familiarities among the row of cars, a license plate here, a dinged bumper there. _Cat's in tonight; I wonder what Nick's doing? _

She parked, took a deep breath, and climbed out, books in hand. It was just the lab; people expected her to be there on her days off more often than not. All she would encounter would be a couple of teasing comments, perhaps--she would bet serious money that Grissom hadn't told anyone yet that she was leaving. _It shouldn't be this hard. _

Striding inside, head up, she made her way to DNA, setting her face in a scowl to discourage interruptions. Greg gave her a grin as she entered, but immediately went back to his row of test tubes, and she wondered who had said what to put him in such a frantic mood. 

"Just put them on the table, would you, Sara?" He pointed with his elbow, hands occupied with a pipette and a vial. She set the books down and felt a little sympathy for the harried tech. 

"What's got you so..." She trailed off and raised a brow, smiling. Greg blew out an exaggerated breath. 

"Two murders, one rape case, and something really weird that Warrick has refused to explain. 'You tell me what it is, you're the lab tech,' my ass." 

Sara chuckled, relaxing a little. "Well, you know, Greg--you are, in fact, the lab tech. I don't see what your ass has to do with it." 

He shot her a glance, half-irritated, half-amused. "You sound just like Grissom." 

All her humor fled at the mention of their supervisor's name. "So people keep telling me. Look, Greg, I have to go." 

"Raincheck on the diner?" Greg asked hopefully, and she suddenly couldn't bear to lie to him. 

"Maybe some other time," she answered. _Maybe in ten years, if I come back for a visit. _He nodded, face falling, and returned to his tasks. _Maybe in twenty. _

She swung back out into the corridor and headed for the parking lot, but almost at once found her path blocked by a custodian, a mop, and a splatter of...something...that stretched from wall to wall. Shards of broken glass sparkled amidst the liquid, and it reeked. Sara eyed the spill, but it was too wide to jump. _Someone's going to get in trouble for dropping evidence. Guess I'll have to go the other way. _

Her steps slowed as she turned around. Her path in to the lab, and her planned path out, had carefully avoided Grissom's office. However, short of going out a fire door and setting off an alarm, there was no avoiding it now. 

She expected it to be dark, and it was. But her eyes caught movement beyond the open blinds, and Sara froze at the edge of visual range for the office, an oath resonating in her head. _He must have got back while I was talking to Greg. _

Common sense urged her to hurry past, trusting in Grissom's usual distraction to keep her unseen. But that rebellious part of her pulled her forward a step instead, to peer inside. 

They were half-hidden in the dimness, and the lack of light made Sara wonder if Grissom were getting one of his migraines again, though she knew they were rare. He sat hunched in front of his desk, elbows on his knees, head pressing into his palms; Catherine sat opposite him, leaning forward and saying something in her usual forthright, no-nonsense fashion. Then Sara's breath caught as Catherine held out her hands, and Grissom raised his head enough to put his own hands into them. 

Sara's throat knotted with sudden pain. All her hard-won peace of mind seemed to dissolve like a handful of sand in water, washing away through her fingers. It hurt, it hurt, but it made sense; they were old friends, close friends, and it was only logical that they go one step further. Sara just wished that she'd kept going instead of stopping for one last look. 

"Hey, Sara!" 

Bobby's voice booming behind her made her jump and turn. The ballistics expert was halfway down the hall, smiling in his easy fashion. "If you're looking for Grissom, I don't think he's back yet." 

Sara forced a smile to her lips. "Thanks, Bobby," she said, as cheerfully as she could manage. "Gotta go." She threw him a wave, breaking into a fast stride and hoping desperately that the two in the dark office hadn't heard him. Just in case, she headed for the back parking lot instead of the front one. They wouldn't think to look for her there, and she didn't want to deal with either of them right now--not now or ever... 

The pain in her throat was swelling, and she swallowed hard to try to break it, forcing back the grief. Somewhere behind her someone else spoke her name, but she barely heard it. She had to go, she had to go _now._ The door flew open under her push, and she erupted into the cool night air, half-running across the empty lot. Thoughts flashed through her mind so fast she couldn't fix on one, except the need to get away, the need to find a safe dark place to curl up in. 

Then two hard hands gripped her arms from behind and jerked her to a stop. She staggered, unable to think clearly enough to try to break free, and the hands spun her around. And then her cheek was against something warm and slightly prickly, and two arms were holding her so tightly that she gasped, and one of those hands was on the back of her neck while the other pressed into her waist just above her hip. Her lungs were full of the smell of him, and her ears with his voice saying her name over and over as though he didn't quite believe she was there. 

She couldn't move. Her arms were held down by the force of his embrace, and she blinked dazedly over his shoulder, focusing on Catherine several yards behind. The older woman grinned a triumphant, congratulatory grin, nodded approvingly, and walked back inside the building. And before Sara could process that, Grissom's hold loosened and he pulled back enough to look at her. 

"Sara," he said again. She met his eyes, beginning to pull her wits together, and was stunned all over again by the force of his gaze. He'd been adamant before, but never outside the confines of work, of the CSI relationship. Now he was turning all that intensity on her, on _her_, not on his subordinate. "You came back." 

_He thinks I changed my mind? _ "Griss," she managed, "I--"

He cut her off by pulling her close again and covering her mouth with his. 

One part of her reeled in shock at his assertiveness; there was no hesitancy in his kiss. It was definitely a claim, and deep inside, her anguish ground to a halt and began to spin the other way, becoming a small, incredulous joy. 

When their lips finally parted, he still had one hand on the nape of her neck, and his fingers tightened gently until she opened her eyes to look at him. His gaze was hot and stern. "Don't you ever leave me again." 

If anyone else had spoken to her in that tone, she would have been furious. But here and now, she sensed the desperation behind his words and in the strength of his grip, and her mouth curled up in a small smile. _If that isn't "caring", I don't know what is. He does care. He does... _

Slowly, deliberately, she leaned back a little, just enough to free her arms. Their eyes were still locked, and she could see the taut waiting in his, the depth of the emotion driving him. Some of that tautness eased as she put her arms around his torso and pressed close to him, and then she tilted her head a fraction and kissed him right back. Claiming went two ways, after all. 

Her smile returned when they broke for air. "Don't you ever make it necessary again." The joy was growing, spreading warmth through her ribcage. 

"Deal." He dipped his head for a short, hard kiss, and then leaned his forehead against hers. His eyes were softer now, and she could feel him shaking just a little, could see the despair that had consumed him until just moments ago. "I thought I'd lost you," he confessed quietly. 

"You did," she answered frankly, and his grip spasmed tighter. Sara rested her head on his shoulder. "Harder," she whispered, swallowing against a new lump in her throat. "Hold me harder." 

His embrace almost hurt, but she welcomed it. The pressure of his arms and his body against hers were healing the deep ache she'd carried so long, were filling the hungry space inside her. His back was warm under her palms, and her skin tingled as she felt him turn his face into her hair. He muttered something she couldn't quite make out, something about not having a wall handy, but it didn't matter. 

They held each other for a long time; Sara felt her heart calming from its racing beat of pain and wonder, and listened to Grissom's breathing slow as he rubbed his cheek against her hair. Faint tremors ran through him from time to time, transmitting through her fingers; once she shuddered, and closed her eyes in bliss as he pulled her closer still. 

"What happened?" she asked at last, not moving. 

He swallowed, and she felt the movement of his throat against her scalp. "I woke up," he said, after a moment. "Sara...I want to talk about this, but not here." 

She laughed a little, a rusty sound that surprised her, and lifted her head. "Good idea. Both of them." 

One side of his mouth quirked up, but his eyes were wide and filled with a serious wonder as they met hers. Delicately, as though he still weren't sure she was real, he ran one finger along the line of her cheek and the angle of her nose before tracing the shape of her lips with a feathery touch. "I would like it very much if you would come home with me," he said. 

She grinned at his formal phrasing, and he smiled back, caressing her jaw with the back of his hand. "I'll meet you there," she said. 

******

His townhouse was pretty much as she remembered it; cool and dim, and smelling of him. Sara sat on his couch and listened to his voice behind her in the kitchen, her thoughts slowing down from the emotional crescendo of the parking lot. _What do I do now? What do **we** do now? _She pressed her fingers to her mouth, which still vibrated faintly with the memory of Grissom's lips against hers. _I guess I got what I wanted. But what does he expect? _

A click reached her ears as Grissom hung up the phone. "Catherine will cover for me," he said dryly, coming around to sit down next to her. "If she gets any smugger, though, I'm going to make her do my paperwork for a week." 

Sara snickered at the thought, and Grissom's familiar half-smile appeared as he reached out and picked up her hand. Their fingers interlinked smoothly, as though with long practice, and Sara stared down at the rhythmic knot they formed. 

"Are you really going to stay?" 

His quiet question startled her, and she looked up. "I guess so," she replied slowly. "I'm still trying to process...this." She gestured with her free hand, and Grissom snorted in amused recognition. The amusement faded fast, however. 

"Sara, I do want to apologize for...for that. I honestly thought it was just a passing thing to you." 

Her mouth twitched at remembered hurt. "Even though I asked you out?" 

Grissom winced. "Yeah. Good example." He looked down at their hands. "It had never occurred to me to go there. I didn't give your request the respect it deserved, and I'm sorry." 

Sara stared at the crown of his head. Their discussion was just beginning, but she gave into impulse and lifted her free hand to his jaw, fingers caressing his face as she had once before. This time her touch met soft hair instead of skin, and his eyes as he lifted them were surprised and relieved instead of puzzled. She leaned forward and brushed her lips over his, slowly, and felt the sudden pressure of his grip. His response was gentle, a careful, answering touch. 

"Apology accepted," Sara whispered against his mouth, and sat back. 

Grissom just stared at her for a moment, eyes never leaving her face, before licking his lips. "Thank you," he said. 

When he didn't continue, Sara wriggled her fingers in his. "So...what changed?" she asked again. 

"A better question might be 'when'," Grissom said. 

"Okay, when then." 

"You remember when you asked me if...anything between us would affect my decision about the promotion?" 

Sara's mouth twitched again. "Gris, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said--" 

"No," he interrupted her, voice authoritative, "it was a legitimate question. I haven't given you a lot of reason to trust me lately." He shrugged. "It surprised me, and I went home that morning and thought about it." His expression was rueful. "I woke up." 

"That's what you said before," Sara noted. "Care to explain that?" 

His gaze returned to her hand, and she watched his lips purse thoughtfully. He unlinked their fingers and spread her hand palm-up over his. Almost idly, he began tracing the lines of her palm with one fingertip, sending a tingle up her arm. "Did you know about my hearing loss?" he asked at last. 

"It was kind of obvious. To a CSI, anyway," Sara added as he lifted his eyes again, looking a little hurt. "But then it went away, so I assumed you got it fixed." 

"Surgery." He nodded. "It's hereditary." 

"Well, yeah." 

He raised a brow at her in inquiry. 

"Come on, Gil. Hearing problems _and _sign language? A cadet could follow that evidence." When he didn't respond, only staring at her, she frowned a little. "What's the matter?" 

"I think that's the first time you've called me Gil." 

Sara smiled, half-pleased, half-embarrassed. "At least where you could hear me." 

This time he kissed her. 

"Where was I?" he murmured a long moment later, and Sara shivered at the feel of his breath against her cheek. 

"Um...waking up." 

"Right." He sat back, still keeping her hand in his. She didn't mind; the contact was deeply pleasing, a reassurance in the midst of the newness. The fact that Grissom had actually admitted to returning her feelings was still ringing through her like the peal of a strange bell, and it would take a while before she could settle into the knowledge. 

"When my hearing started to go, I kind of went into denial." He shrugged, obviously still uncomfortable with the subject. "It took me way too long to deal with it, and I kept distracting myself with work. You know I'm not a people person." 

Sara smiled at him. "You're not that bad. At least when you work at it." 

His mouth twisted ruefully. "Thank you. I think." 

She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. "Go on." 

Grissom sighed. "I got the surgery, I got my hearing back, and it made me take another look at my life. I saw how closed off I'd become. So I decided to try to do something about it." He bit his lip, thinking. "It wasn't easy." 

"We did notice you'd changed," Sara said encouragingly. "But, y'know, we didn't really know what to make of it." 

"I figured," he said wryly. Again, he caressed her cheekbone with one finger, following its line back towards her ear and then down to her chin. "Sara, I think I've spent most of the last three years falling in love with you, and I never saw it." His smile was sad. "Some CSI, huh?" 

She couldn't think of anything to say that would ease him, so she only smiled again and held his hand tighter. 

"You asked me that question, and that morning I realized that my...feelings for you...were a whole lot more than friendship," he went on quietly. "All of a sudden I could see clearly, but I thought it was too late, that you'd moved on." He shook his head. "I've said before that I don't mind being wrong, it's how I get to right. But this time I was wrong for too long." 

Grissom laughed, a soft, humorless sound. "Someone told me once that we never know what we need until we find it. In my case I didn't know what I needed until after I lost it." He shrugged. "You resigned, and I thought, that's it, I won't even be able to see her any more, and I was kicking myself for being so stupid. And then you said you still cared, and--" He swallowed. "I called and you didn't answer; I went to your place, but you weren't there. I thought you'd left." 

That voice, that warm voice she loved so well, had gone hoarse. "Sara...I thought I'd go crazy." 

His eyes were dark with pain, and Sara couldn't stand it. This time, however, there was nothing to bar her. She pulled her fingers from his grasp and slid closer to wrap her arms around him. He returned the embrace, and she felt his head come to rest on her shoulder as a sigh, mingled pain and relief, escaped him. Tears stung her eyes, but she kept them back. This was what she'd wanted, for the two of them to stop hurting each other. Now healing could begin.

"I deserved it, for what I must have put you through," he muttered at last, not moving. 

Sara rubbed his back in soothing circles. "It's over now," she said reassuringly, savoring the warmth of him pressed against her. 

"Sara--" He pulled back a little, his hands rising to her shoulders, and regarded her, gaze roving over her face as though he were committing it to memory. "I don't even know...I mean...why me? I'm nobody's ideal." 

"You're my ideal." Sara shrugged, her lips curling up. "You have so much to offer, Gil. You're fascinating and brilliant and--" Her smile widened into a grin. "_Very _sexy." 

He laughed outright, and put an arm around her, easing her to him until she was leaning against his chest. Sara's own arm went around his waist, and her smile widened as she felt him kiss the top of her head. "I don't deserve you," he said. 

"Probably not," she said, her voice teasing. "But we can work on that." 

"Later." His arm tightened as Sara rubbed her cheek against him, enjoying his scent. "What made you change your mind?" 

"Hmm?" she asked, not following his thinking. 

"I thought you weren't coming back. But then you did." 

"Oh." She watched as his free hand reached down to capture hers. "Um...I didn't. I found some books I borrowed from Greg, and I came by to return them." She shrugged a little. "I was going to meet him at the diner, but he couldn't get away." 

"Remind me to give him a raise," Grissom said, and she could hear the amusement in his voice, but his grip on her hand tightened, and she knew he was recalling how close they had come to missing each other entirely. The thought chilled her, and she pulled away and sat up straight so she could see his face. 

He was smiling, but it faltered as he took in the worry in her eyes. "Is this real?" she asked, needing reassurance. 

His smile returned, warm and tender, and he cupped her face in his palms. "As real as it gets," he promised, and kissed her. A soft, pleasured sound escaped her, and his hands slid down to her shoulders again. Sara shivered at the contrast, the prickle of his mustache versus the smoothness of his lips, and reached up to touch his face in turn. She'd been wondering what his beard felt like ever since he'd grown it. 

But it took the coolness of evaporation against her fingertips for her to realize that his eyes were leaking tears, and the chill in her heart dissolved under a wave of love and confidence. 

Grissom pulled back just a little without opening his eyes. "Sara," he whispered. "You're the realest thing I know." 

"Bonus," she answered, and brought her mouth back to his. 

His hands found their way around her again, one returning to the nape of her neck, and he leaned back slowly until he was half-lying against the arm of the couch, Sara on top of him. She broke the kiss and chuckled, and this time he looked at her, smiling that charming half-smile. "What?" 

"Do you know how often I've dreamed of being in this position?" 

He arched a brow at her. "Probably as often as I've dreamed of having your hands on me." He lifted one away from his cheek and pressed the palm to his lips. "You have beautiful hands." 

"I do?" She was taken aback by the statement. Her hands were big and square and strong-boned, and she'd always thought that they didn't fit the rest of her; someone with her build should have slender hands and tapering fingers, she felt. 

"You do." Grissom ran his thumb over her palm. "They're strong, and competent. These are hands for doing essential things, for holding on tightly." 

The lump was back in her throat. His words felt dearer than any light compliment about appearance. "Thank you," she managed, and his gaze shifted from her hand to her eyes, and he pulled her back down to kiss away the moisture that had appeared. 

For a long time, they said nothing, simply holding each other in silence, letting the empty places fill with the other's caring. Every so often Grissom would stroke Sara's hair, or she would reach out and link her fingers with his, enjoying the warmth of his skin. 

"Where do we go from here?" she asked finally. 

"Well, you have two weeks of vacation coming," he reminded her, his voice vibrating where her ear was pressed to his chest. "May I assume that your parents aren't actually expecting you to visit?" 

"Um...yeah." She shrugged. "I guess I'll need to unpack my apartment." 

He chuckled. "Take the vacation," he said. "Get some rest. Do the things you never have time to do because you're always working. Have dinner with me." 

Sara lifted her head to look at him. "Right now?" 

He glanced at the windows, where the light had strengthened. "Shift's over. We're on our own time." 

"Our time," she repeated, smiling. "I like that." 

"Good." He kissed her again. "Let's make the most of it."

**END**


End file.
